The word “hitherto” seems like a hand pointing in the direction of the past. Twenty years or seventy, and yet “hitherto hath the Lord helped us!” Through poverty, through wealth, through sickness, through health; at home, abroad, on the land, on the sea; in honor, in dishonor, [...]]]> “Hitherto hath the Lord helped us” (I Sam. 7:12).

The word “hitherto” seems like a hand pointing in the direction of the past. Twenty years or seventy, and yet “hitherto hath the Lord helped us!” Through poverty, through wealth, through sickness, through health; at home, abroad, on the land, on the sea; in honor, in dishonor, in perplexity, in joy, in trial, in triumph, in prayer, in temptation–”hitherto hath the Lord helped!”

We delight to look down a long avenue of trees. It is delightful to gaze from one end of the long vista, a sort of verdant temple, with its branching pillars and its arches of leaves. Even so look down the long aisles of your years, at the green boughs of mercy overhead, and the strong pillars of lovingkindness and faithfulness which bear up your joys.

Are there no birds in yonder branches singing? Surely, there must be many, and they all sing of mercy received “hitherto.”

But the word also points forward. For when a man gets up to a certain mark, and writes “hitherto,” he is not yet at the end; there are still distances to be traversed. More trials, more joys; more temptations, more triumphs; more prayers, more answers; more toils, more strength; more fights, more victories; and then come sickness, old age, disease, death.

Is it over now? No! there is more yet–awakening in Jesus’ likeness, thrones, harps, songs, psalms, white raiment the face of Jesus, the society of saints, the glory of God, the fullness of eternity, the infinity of bliss. Oh, be of good courage, believer, and with grateful confidence raise thy “Ebenezer,” for,

“He who hath helped thee hitherto
Will help thee all thy journey through.”

When read in Heaven’s light, how glorious and marvelous a prospect will thy “hitherto” unfold to thy grateful eye. –  C. H. Spurgeon (From Streams in the Desert, December 31)

The boy persisted. “Please, Jacob. I won’t laugh at you. I promise. I really want to hear the story.”

The old man finally answered. “No matter, [...]]]> They sat side by side on the hillside, silently gazing into the starry sky. Finally, the boy spoke. “Would you tell me about that night, Jacob?” The old man said nothing.

The boy persisted. “Please, Jacob. I won’t laugh at you. I promise. I really want to hear the story.”

The old man finally answered. “No matter, Peter. The laughing doesn’t bother me anymore. My thoughts just don’t come as quickly as they did 70 years ago.”

“So it’s been that long? Seventy years?”

“More than 70. I was about your age. Just a lad. But I remember clearly… as if it were last night.” He stared nowhere in particular, his mind lost in another time.

“And the others with you, Jacob? Were they older?”

“Yes. I was the youngest—and probably the most afraid.”

Peter paused a moment, then whispered. “Tell me. Please.”

Soft words came at last. “We were alone on the hillside, watching over our sheep. Just as you and I are tonight. Then instantly, like a lightning bolt from heaven, an angel stood among us. His blazing clothing blinded us and lit up the whole hillside….”

The old man paused as the boy interrupted, each thought tumbling over the next. “Did the angel speak to you, Jacob? What did he say? Were you frightened?

Jacob was sober in his recollection, as one who had told the story many times, often to mocking and ridicule.

“Though he told us not to be afraid, his appearance terrified us. Even Eli, who seemed as big as Goliath to me, could barely stand up afterwards. And the angel’s message stunned us. After thousands of years, the Messiah had finally come! But He would not be the king we were expecting. Instead, we would find him lying in manger in a stable in Bethlehem. It didn’t make sense.”

Peter could hardly utter his next question. “Then what happened, Jacob?”

“Then the heavens exploded with countless other angels—all singing and praising God. But like the light from a snuffed candle, they suddenly disappeared, leaving us in darkness again.”

“It was then you went to Bethlehem?”

“Yes. We knew we must seek the Child and see if what the angel had said was true. Eli took off first, and I struggled to keep up as best my short legs could. We ran from stable to stable until we found the Child—exactly as the angel had described.”

“Jacob, the boys in the village say you dreamed all these things.”

“Yes, I’ve heard their foolish talk. But they are mistaken. We all saw the Child… and touched Him. Flesh and blood are no dream.”

“They say you are just an old man who makes up tales about the Child to sound important. All of the other shepherds you claim were with you have been dead for many years, and there is no one left alive to prove your story. They call you ‘The Last Shepherd’ to make fun of you.”

“It is true that I am very old and have outlived all the others who ran to Bethlehem that night. But I am not The Last Shepherd, Peter.”

“What do you mean, Jacob? You said that the others were dead.”

“They are indeed. But there was another shepherd in the stable that night who still lives. He is The Last Shepherd.”

“But how can there be another shepherd, Jacob? I don’t understand.”

“The Child, Peter. The Child. Do you know what He called himself when He grew up?”

“Yes! Now I remember! He once said, ‘I am the Good Shepherd!’”

“He is also the Last Shepherd, for no other shepherd will ever come after Him to guard and protect His flock.”

“But how can He prove your story since he’s not here?”

“Tell me, Peter. How do you get your sheep to come to you?”

“I call them by name, and they come because they know my voice. First one, then another, until all are safely in the fold.”

“Exactly. And everyone who sees them respond to your call knows for certain you must be their shepherd. Is that not so? And so it is today with The Last Shepherd. He calls His sheep one by one, and as they hear their names they go to Him in heaven. But a day is coming when He will call all that remain, and the entire flock will go to Him at once. Then those who disbelieve will begin to understand.”

“I think I see, Jacob, but when will this happen?”

“I don’t know, lad. I don’t know. But with each passing year, I long more and more to hear my name called. I hope it’s on a night much like tonight, here on the hillside, gazing into the heavens and guarding our sheep. Then I will go to Him.”

“Could it be tonight, Jacob?”

“Yes, lad. It could be tonight.” And they lay back on the grass… listening… as if trying to hear a distant voice.

—–
“For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.”

Copyright 2011 James McAlister

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Golden Autumn by name, she heralds inevitable liberation from the restricting bonds of summer heat. [...]]]> Autumn is my favorite season of the year, and the weather I have come to expect and enjoy in October has just arrived in the last few days. Thus I post an older article about the feelings Autumn brings with it.

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Golden Autumn by name, she heralds inevitable liberation from the restricting bonds of summer heat. And brushed by the train of her garment, summer’s prickly greens and blues soon transform to longer, softer wavelengths of red and orange and yellow.

At about this time each year, I watchfully await signs of her coming — not on a specific calendar day, but in a particular season of pleasantly distinctive and remarkable quality. This week, Golden Autumn, crouching just outside my door, unexpectedly sprang upon me. And as with her previous annual visitations, she caught me not disappointed.

Surely because our house faces directly west — and no trees shield afternoon’s sun — summer has lain upon us like a blanket, hot and heavy. Stifling, stale air, tempered infinitesimally only by a layer of insulation just added to the door, saturates and permeates our garage.

So when I slightly cracked the front door early Friday morning and felt lightness in the air, I silently rejoiced. “Autumn,” says Gregg Easterbrook, “truly is what summer pretends to be: the best of all seasons. It is as glorious as summer is tedious; as subtle as summer is obvious; as refreshing as summer is wearying. Autumn seems like paradise.”

But for the unforgettable pungent odors of burning leaves wafting through our neighborhood, few autumn memories of my own childhood linger. But decades later, our son would often indulge himself with flying leaps into the copious windrows of fallen leaves snaking about our yard. At least, that is, until he had more intimately associated himself with the work which had created those fluffy brown dunes.

For several years, autumn announced my pilgrimage back to college, a ritual I never warmly embraced. But on the other hand, Golden Autumn still brings balance by also staying tedious and tiring lawn care.

Today, varied enemies have entrenched themselves on several fronts to launch guerrilla warfare at their discretion against my contentment. But enter Golden Autumn — bearing the hopefulness of plunging once again into coolness and color for both respite and renewal. For Golden Autumn speaks of new beginnings.

But why the acute interest in autumn — especially this autumn? Perhaps because my own season of life impels me to carefully count remaining autumns as a miser his gold, to treasure them as a definable and finite resource. And perhaps because physical infirmities have recently barred me from activities I’ve sorely needed — to be out and moving, experiencing the solitude and majesty of God’s creation as man pits himself against the outdoors.

Summer inflicts pain only autumn can salve, puts wrinkles in life only autumn can smooth. And like a mother with her hurting child, Golden Autumn heals the soul by touch and words alone.

Copyright 2003 James McAlister

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The education of our faith is incomplete if we have not learned that there is a providence of loss, a ministry of failing and of fading things, a gift of emptiness. The material insecurities of life make for its spiritual establishment. [...]]]> “It came to pass . . . that the brook dried up” (1 Kings 17:7).

The education of our faith is incomplete if we have not learned that there is a providence of loss, a ministry of failing and of fading things, a gift of emptiness. The material insecurities of life make for its spiritual establishment. The dwindling stream by which Elijah sat and mused is a true picture of the life of each of us. “It came to pass . . . that the brook dried up” — that is the history of our yesterday, and a prophecy of our morrows.

In some way or other we will have to learn the difference between trusting in the gift and trusting in the Giver. The gift may be good for a while, but the Giver is the Eternal Love.

Cherith was a difficult problem to Elijah until he got to Zarephath, and then it was all as clear as daylight. God’s hard words are never His last words. The woe and the waste and the tears of life belong to the interlude and not to the finale.

Had Elijah been led straight to Zarephath he would have missed something that helped to make him a wiser prophet and a better man. He lived by faith at Cherith. And whensoever in your life and mine some spring of earthly and outward resource has dried up, it has been that we might learn that our hope and help are in God who made Heaven and earth. — F. B. Meyer

(This entry can be found in Streams in the Desert for October 5)

I clearly recall having been discouraged and thinking about her death when without [...]]]> The unexpected death of Jenny, our firstborn and only daughter, ushered in a period of difficult adjustment for me and my family. And though I certainly believed in heaven, an unusual and instantaneous experience transformed my abstract conceptof heaven into a settled reality.

I clearly recall having been discouraged and thinking about her death when without warning my mind’s eye was opened, and I saw–truly saw that heaven was indescribably real and that all was well with Jenny and would be with me.

This may seem odd and far-fetched, but it is certainly not unique. Of his writing of the “Hallelujah Chorus” in Messiah, George Frederick Handel would say, “I thought I saw all Heaven before me, and the great God Himself.”

Out of those moments of enlightenment soon came this poem, a picture of the glories of heaven as described in Revelation 4 and 5:

HE WHO IS WORTHY AT LAST

I was discouraged when cares held my heart;
Troubles rolled in like the sea.
Cries to the Father that they might depart
Inclined His ear to my plea.
When through the Spirit enlightenment came —
A door to heaven for me —
Glorious splendor demanded surrender,
Compelling my heart to its knees.

Throned upon emerald, pavilioned in light,
Covenant rainbow arrayed;
Lightning and thunder acclaiming His might,
Holy, the Ancient of Days!
“Thou who art worthy of honor and pow’r,
Riches and blessing and praise,
For by Thy pleasure in limitless measure
Creation Thy glory displays!”

When none was worthy to open the book —
Sealed from eternity past —
Millions of angels their silence forsook,
Filling the heavens so vast:
“Weep not; behold Him! The Lamb that was slain
Now has the book in his grasp!
The Root of David, for ages awaited,
It’s He who is worthy at last!”

(Refrain)
Blessing and pow’r and glory to the Lamb.
Forever and ever, bowing to the Lamb.
He redeemed us to God
By the cross, the crown, the blood.
Blessing and pow’r and glory to the Lamb.

(Based on Revelation 4 & 5)

Copyright 1997 James McAlister

Not long afterwards I gave these words to young Zack Stanton, 14 years old at the time, who set them to music. Today Zack, now an accomplished composer and conductor, is on track to receive his Doctor of Musical Arts in Music Composition at the University of Texas at Austin in May 2012. And though he describes his youthful efforts at composition as “green,” I never tire of hearing “He Who Is Worthy At Last” and would love to see it published and used to encourage others.

Zack has given permission for me to post a copy of his original musical score along with a printer-friendly version of the words. As with other items on this web site, usage by individuals and churches is permitted, but other usages require written permission.

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Musical score

Zack Stanton website

—–

THE RETRIEVING OF YESTERDAY

Isaiah i.x. 3 v.

“They joy before Thee according to the joy in harvest”

The kind of joy [...]]]> This is another selection from “Searchings in the Silence” (George Matheson, 1895) that I hope will be an encouragement to others who may sometimes feel they have suffered too many losses when life has taken hard turns.

—–

THE RETRIEVING OF YESTERDAY

Isaiah i.x. 3 v.

“They joy before Thee according to the joy in harvest”

The kind of joy which I would like to have in the presence of God is the joy of harvest. What is the joy of harvest? It is a resurrection joy. It is not the gladness which comes from getting anything new; it is the satisfaction of seeing the rising of buried things—the bursting from the ground of what I believed to be dead.

There is no joy to me like that. It is far more than being lifted out of my trouble; it is the lifting of my trouble itself. It is good to be taken from the fearful pit, and from the miry clay; but it is not the highest thing. The highest thing is to find that the miry clay itself contained gems of gold. It is much to be delivered from my past; but it is more to have my past vindicated, justified—to be able to say, “It was good for me to have been afflicted.”

I do not think that Job’s was a perfect compensation. He was cured of his ailments, and he received new houses and lands. It was a joy, but it was not a harvest joy. It did not explain the years of famine. It did not make up for the time of waste. It did not say why the night had been. You may tell me that the night is far spent, and the day is at hand; it is well, but it is not sufficient. I want to know that there are songs in the night itself. I want to feel that I have not been wasting time. I want to believe that even my desert moments have been a march to the promised land. I would have the joy of reaping the buried grain —the joy of harvest.

Oh! Thou, who art come to seek and to save lost things, buried things, I lift mine eyes to Thee. Many have offered me a golden morrow; Thou alone hast offered to retrieve my yesterday. Many would give me a new garden; Thou alone rememberest the treasure hid in the old ground. Give me back my past, oh, Lord. Restore to me the waste places of my heart. Reveal to me the meaning of my failures. Teach me the track of the path I deemed trackless. Show me the angel sitting on the tomb of my buried self. Show me that the man with whom I wrestled at Peniel was a man from heaven.

Show me the vision of beauty that hovered over my pillow of stone. Show me that there was manna in my desert, which even Canaan did not hold. Then shall mine be a harvest joy, a resurrection joy, the joy of gathering the buried past. Then shall my heart be satisfied that the travail of the soul was autumn’s gain. Then shall my mountain view indeed be beautiful, for it shall be seen from the place of my former valley. The joy of harvest is the joy of redeeming love.

—–

For information on how to download the book, see my post on The Last Survivals Of Grief.

Following is a summarization of the tribute delivered [...]]]> From my own experience, the loss of a child is one of the most difficult experiences we ever face in life. The pain and darkness are indescribably intense, and there are no easy answers to comfort the hurting heart. Can there be any hope in such a situation?

Following is a summarization of the tribute delivered by Karen Gottsponer at the memorial service for her infant daughter, Rebekah Joy Gottsponer, who passed away on October 13, 2009. In it you will see great hope expressed even in the midst of overwhelming sorrow. I trust this will be a help to others who might find themselves in similar circumstances.

—–

Dale and I and our family want to thank you all for being here to support us during this time.

We are thankful for the time that God gave us with Rebekah Joy. I was so blessed to have had the privilege of carrying her for almost 37 weeks and blessed that the kids and Dale had an opportunity to place their hands over my belly and pray over her these past few months. Today is about honoring her and giving glory to God for her sweet little life.

As we have been ministered to this week by so many, we have come across numerous verses that have touched our hearts and have spoken life into our weary souls. Looking back, we realize that God in His tender mercy was drawing us toward Him and preparing us for what we would be facing.

As the reality of Rebekah’s passing began to seek in, I spent time in the hospital bathroom crying out to God to fill my hurting heart as only He could. I didn’t know if I could face another moment without my sweet baby girl. I felt that our hopes were lost, our dreams unfulfilled and our plans unfinished. But God whispered in my heart that this was not true. If this is what we believed we could not make it another day but would just crumble into a heap of despair.

Our hopes are not lost because we know we will see Rebekah’s sweet little face one day!

Because of Rebekah’s passing, our faith is being tested as never before. Do we believe everything we say we believe? It’s so easy to pray and praise God when our world is right. However, what will we do when things don’t go as planned? We now know we must cling to His word because He is really all we have. I was reminded of these verses: “These two things cannot change: God cannot lie when He makes a promise, and He cannot lie when He makes an oath. These things encourage us who came to God for safety. They give us strength to hold on to the hope we have been given. We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, sure and strong.” (Hebrews 6:18-19 NCV).

As women came in our hospital room with stories of their own losses, Dale and I realized that we too could “rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep” (Roman 12:15 NAS) because we had “been there” and felt that same grief.

And even though I have a baby book at home left uncompleted, God has reminded me that Rebekah’s sweet days were ordained in His book before one of them came to be. (Psalm 139:13-16).

We are scared of the “firsts” that are coming. The first time we are asked how many children we have. The first day Dale goes back to work. The first time we go back to church without Rebekah. The first time I am asked by someone who doesn’t know our loss, “How is your newborn?” Though these unknowns frighten us, God “will lead the blind by ways they have not known.” (Isaiah 42:16).

Dale and I had thought a lot about the tone we wanted this memorial service to take. Do we celebrate? Do we grieve? Do we mourn? We eventually decided that we wanted friends to see that we do indeed grieve for our little baby—so deeply from a place in our hearts we never knew existed.

But we also wanted them to see that we grieve with hope: hope of seeing sweet little Rebekah’s face again because we are in Christ. (1 Thes. 4:13-18). We can honestly say we can praise God through this storm. These past few days, His word seems sweeter, His grace ever present, His love surrounding.

We have been blessed in so many ways this past week: To know for sure the cause of little Rebekah’s death. To have a wonderful doctor who cared for me throughout my pregnancy and prayed and cried with us at the end. To have friends that immediately rallied around us and cried and prayed with us. To have a dear hospital staff member to take care of Rebekah when were not able and to minister to our weary hearts. To have friends that cared for our children, taxied them around, played Monopoly with them, took them out for shakes. To have children who helped run the household, cleaned bathrooms, greeted guests. To have family members who came with love and coworkers and neighbors who called, provided meals, shed tears, wrote words. And much more.

Thank you all from the bottom of our hearts. Thank you for walking down this path with us the first few days as we stumbled along. Though we know we have to walk alone now, we are reassured we aren’t really alone, for God is with us every step. And we know He will also bring people along our paths when we need them to help us in this journey.

May God show you how much each of you means to us. Thank you, and God bless you.

Copyright 2009 Karen Gottsponer — www. gottjoy.blogspot.com

THE HOPE

I weep for you my little one,
My heart is full of whys:
Why snatched from me so suddenly?
No answer satisfies.

I’ll never fully comprehend
The darkness in my soul,
But from my pain—and dawning bright—
A wonder now unfolds:

That God could take my deepest hurt
And from its depth extract
A hope in Him, a confidence,
A love that knows no lack.

Not even death with all its sting
Could ever steal from me
The wondrous hope we’ll meet again
And share eternity!

In Memory Of:
Rebekah Joy Gottsponer
October 13, 2009

Copyright 2009 James McAlister — www.james-mc.com

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But why? Perhaps because the trauma of death forced a shift in focus. Presenting God with only a list of needs no [...]]]> Despite my best intentions, I’ve often been disappointed in the lack of results from my praying. Since the death of my wife, however, I can honestly report more effectiveness than in any previous recollection.

But why? Perhaps because the trauma of death forced a shift in focus. Presenting God with only a list of needs no longer satisfied because I usually didn’t even know what to ask for in my extremity. Prayer has now become more of a closer relationship with the One who has invited me to come boldly before His throne and find mercy and grace to help in time of need. (Heb. 4:16).

What I describe here won’t necessarily be a pattern for others to follow exactly but simply an observation about how God seems to be working in this season of my life through three intertwining processes:

COMMUNICATING WITH GOD

When my son was small, he’d often ask me for things. And while I’d certainly grant some of his requests outright, what I really wanted to do was communicate with him so that we could understand each other and mutually arrive at the best decision. So we’d talk about the request and all its ramifications.

Thus my approach to God–my communication with Him– has largely taken the form of ongoing verbal conversations throughout the day. I literally speak aloud to God and explain puzzlements, issues, needs, anxieties, disappointments, sorrows, frustrations, loneliness, etc., as if confiding in a close personal friend from whom I withhold no secrets. I also ask questions and make requests. He understands, and verbalization (coupled with my Bible reading, of course) helps me gain clarification and insight.

This is reminiscent of conversations I used to have with my wife. We often rambled far afield from the original issue until we came to a resolution. There was seldom any quick fix.

CRYING OUT TO GOD

More so than ever before, I find my prayers punctuated by tears–real, hot and salty. They come without being beckoned and add urgency to my supplications. Does this make any difference? Perhaps. What parent won’t immediately attend to the needs and hurts of a weeping child? When Hezekiah cried out to God in deep distress of soul, God replied, “I have heard your prayers; I have seen your tears.” (Isa. 38:5). The combination found favor in heaven.

And though He was sinless and perfect, even Jesus Himself offered up prayers and supplications with loud cryings and tears–and was heard. (Heb. 5:7).

Tears often spring from a broken heart, and it’s comforting to know that “the Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” He sees and hears me right where I am. (Psa. 34:17-18).

COUNTING ON GOD

Pray without expecting an answer and you won’t likely be disappointed. We must actively, expectantly, persistently count on God to do all He has promised: to meet our needs (Php. 4:19), to give us wisdom (Jas. 1:5), to never leave us nor forsake us (Heb. 13:5) and so much more. But far too often the seeming impossibility of a situation causes me to doubt. God cannot lie (Tit. 1:2), and I must learn to count on Him to be true to His word.

If I pray according to His will, He will both hear and answer. (1 Jn. 5:14-15). When I’m unsure of His will, I consider some questions. For example, is my prayer in alignment with the clear principles of scripture? Is it consistent with how God has acted before? Is it a good thing that would bring glory to Him and advance His kingdom?

While not perfect, such thinking helps persuade me that if I don’t know of any reason why He shouldn’t answer my request, I pray with confidence that He will. But what if I’m wrong? Then I count on the Holy Spirit to intercede for me according to the will of God. (Rom. 8:26). Thus I don’t have to pray without expecting results and can count on God to do what’s best.

You may get the idea that praying this way might be tedious and drawn out. It can be. Or that it might be emotional and intense. Certainly. Or perhaps even bold and aggressive. Yes.

Prayer indeed changes things, and the greatest changes I’ve seen have been in me. Pray, and you can expect the same.

Copyright 2009 James McAlister

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I have found, however, a few truly useful rules for successful living–but [...]]]> Throughout my school years I had to memorize numerous rules I never completely understood. For example, why must I lie down instead of lay down for a nap? But there is a grammatical rule that governs such statements even if I don’t know it.

I have found, however, a few truly useful rules for successful living–but they just don’t seem right. In fact, they appear at first glance to be flat out wrong because they conflict with our “common sense.”

THE FIRST ONE OVER THE FINISH LINE DOES NOT WIN THE PRIZE

In a race, the winner is the one who gets to the finish line first–unless he’s disqualified for an infraction of the rules. Rules are important, and we need to understand them.

Who was the strong man, David or Goliath? Goliath, of course, who stood taller than nine feet and had been a warrior since his youth. His opponent? A mere shepherd boy who couldn’t even wear a man’s armor. But Goliath’s bulk and formidable array of weaponry proved no match for David’s confidence, inspired and backed up by the name of the Lord God of Hosts. If bets had been taken that day, they would all have been on the strong man who lost. “The race is not to the swift, or the battle to the strong.” (Eccl 9:11).

So if the first one over the finish line doesn’t win the prize, then who does? “Blessed is a man who perseveres under trial, for once he has been approved (by God), he will receive the crown of life….” (James 1:12). Eternal prizes go to those who persevere despite obstacles and sidetracks. There are no shortcuts to maturity, and neither strength nor speed decide the winner.

PERFECT CONDITIONS DO NOT YIELD FRUIT

Perfect conditions seldom occur, and “he who watches the wind does not sow, and he who watches the clouds does not reap.” (Eccl 11:10). If we wait until conditions are “just right,” we won’t ever attempt anything.

When the Israelites crossed the Red Sea, they were led by God into the wilderness where they were three days without water. When the water they finally found at Marah was bitter, great complaints arose against Moses. Moses cried out to God, and following His instructions, tossed a certain tree into the water, causing the bitter water to become sweet. (Exodus 15:22-27).

Thus satisfied, sustained and nourished with sweet water, the people moved on. They camped next at Elim, an excellent spot with 12 wells of water and 70 palm trees. What could have been better? But the great work of God was done at the bitter waters; there is no miracle recorded at Elim, where conditions were perfect.

Out of the hard spots in life grow powerful testimonies, towering strength, clear insight. Perfect conditions don’t produce that kind of fruit.

BEING RIGHT IS NOT ENOUGH

Stated differently, the truth is never sufficient in itself. We do need to be right and have a firm grip on truth–but there’s more.

On occasion I assemble the ingredients for a chocolate pie on my counter. Tasted individually, however, they are disgusting. Bitter cocoa powder, chalky flour–and there’s no way I’d eat a raw egg! But in the proper proportions and cooked for the right amount of time, the result is really quite tasty.

I’ve been around numerous churches and individuals who were right in their teaching and doctrine, but they had neither significant influence nor power. Why not? An essential ingredient was missing from the mix.

Paul explains this way: “That we henceforth be no more children, tossed to and fro, and carried about with every wind of doctrine, by the sleight of men, and cunning craftiness, whereby they lie in wait to deceive; but speaking the truth in love, may grow up into him in all things, which is the head, even Christ.” (Ephesians 4:14-15, emphasis added). Truth does not prevail unless mixed with love.

In evaluating my various roles in life–husband, father, grandfather, teacher, leader–I draw one conclusion: I’ve been right a lot more times than I’ve been effective.

I’ve preached too much and prayed too little, loved too little, had too little compassion, overlooked too few wrongs done to me, forgiven too little. Indeed I was right–yet ineffective. Truth doesn’t stand alone.

The important rules that govern our lives are sometimes veiled in darkness.  But God waits to throw back the shutters and flood us with light–if we’ll ask Him. (James 1:5).

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